


Crow and Nightingale

by fatale_distraction



Series: Prompts [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drabble, Drunken Kissing, F/M, Short One Shot, prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-09-19 13:19:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9442409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatale_distraction/pseuds/fatale_distraction
Summary: Collected Works involving one of my favorite rarely-seen ships.All drabbles, mostly from Tumblr's drunk writing circle!





	1. Tipsy Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr ask Prompt for tardisonthenormandy 
> 
> Tipsy kiss for a humorous/unlikely pair that would likely be disgusted after the fact.
> 
> I ship the absolute crap out of these two, but in a way that Leliana refuses to acknowledge that she totally wants to bang him because he’s just so goddamn obnoxious to her, so here's my take on that.

Skyhold had erupted into spontaneous celebration. The Inquisitor had returned, successful and alive, from her battle against the ancient darkspawn magister that had so recently threatened their world. Booze flowed freely, servants danced with soldiers, music played in a cacophony of poorly maintained rhythm. Everybody was just elated to be alive.

Leliana watched the revelry in the courtyard from her vantage point on the stairs, leaning against the balustrade with a goblet of sweet red wine. At another time in her life, she would have been down there, dancing around the bonfires, composing songs on the spot and strumming a lute or a harp, kissing strangers in the shadow of the barn…She took a long sip of her wine. Those days were well behind her.

She was rudely interrupted in her musings when a tall figure cloaked in black stumbled into her from behind, hands gripping her hips to keep them both from pitching over the railing. She caught the sharp scent of cloves, citrus oil, and leather, chased by the heavy reek of alcohol.

“My apologies, miss–ah…Lady Nightingale…” she could practically hear the leering little smirk in his voice.

“Ugh,” she said, shoving the man away with her free hand. “Don’t start with me, Zevran, I was _enjoying_ my night.”

“Not to my eyes,” the elf replied in his thick, warm accent, leaning next to her and tilting his chin up smugly. “Nostalgia is a powerful drug; one that does nothing for that pretty face of yours.”

Leliana glared at him beneath her hood. After he had helped her take care of some sensitive matters, she had invited him to join her team at Skyhold, against her better judgment. He was damn good at what he did, but she had never been appreciative of his careless, insistent advances. 

He clicked his tongue, fingers brushing against hers as he took the wine from her hand. He took a long drink and returned it. “That scowl does nothing for you either…though that murderous glint in your eyes is very enticing.” 

“You’re drunk,” stated Leliana, eyeing her goblet where his lips had been. She pointedly turned the cup and drank from the opposite end. 

“You’ve caught me,” the Antivan admitted with an unapologetic grin. “But you’ve had your fair share of wine tonight, as well.” He leaned close, pressing his nose into her soft, red hair. “I can smell it on you…”

She jerked away, batting at him. “Why don’t you go bother someone who appreciates your flirting? I’m certain Dorian and Iron Bull would be happy to add a third to their celebrations.” 

Zevran just laughed in his good-natured way. “I’ve already partaken of that particular vice, and it did not disappoint. I’m more interested in you…” his eyes met hers with a fierce kind of sincerity that tightened her stomach. “What are your plans, now that this is over?”

She was quiet for a long time, staring down into the fires without seeing. “I cannot say. There will be plenty of work to do cleaning up after this mess, but after that…I haven’t considered.”

“You have been nominated as a candidate for Divine, I hear.” He borrowed her drink again, sipping quietly by her side. 

“Yes. I’m not sure what will come of it.”

“You will make a very lovely Divine,” he said, soft and earnest. “Not sure about that hideous hat, but…it will be nice to see you in Chantry robes again. They do hug your curves so very nicely–” he laughed as she swatted at him again, taking the strike without flinching. They stood silently for another long moment, listening to the music of celebration below. “Please promise me that you will be kind to yourself,” he whispered so softly she barely caught it.

“I…Of course…” she faltered, looking up at him in surprise. His profile was highlighted by the moon behind him, all sharp cheekbones and soft lips. He glanced down at her and smiled in his impish way. 

“Promise me,” he repeated, leaning closer. One arm came around her, braced on the balustrade behind her. Their noses brushed.

“I promise…” she said, cut off when he pressed his lips to hers, soft and gentle, then harder. His fingers tangled in her hair as his tongue slipped past hers. Her hands crept around his waist and up his back, gripping his shirt in gloved fingers. She felt strands of his hair catch in her grasp. He’d let his hair grow so long…

Abruptly, she came to her senses and shoved him away, blushing feverish and angry. “H-how _dare_ –” He pecked at her lips to interrupt her, then escaped, cackling over the rail just as she was raising a fist. She listened with satisfaction to the pained “oof” and cursing from below when he hit the ground incorrectly, red still vibrant on her cheeks.

“What are you looking at?” she snapped at a pair of sentries passing by. They hurried their pace, glancing curiously over their shoulders at the blushing Spymistress. “Ugh.”


	2. The Nightingale's Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DWC fill for the prompt: The smell of Cologne/Perfume on warm skin, any pairing you like!  
> Leliana and Zev share an intimate moment in bed. Not really NSFW, although there is implied sex.

Zevran flung the windows open, the drapes billowing around his svelte, chestnut form, closing his eyes as the chilly mountain air cooled the sweat on his fevered and flushed skin. 

Leliana watched him from the tangled sheets of her luxurious four poster bed. The colors of her room were muted compared to the garish Orlesian fashions, but what little the room contained was just as opulent. The heavy desk, towering wardrobe and bed frame were immaculately carved with matching nightingales and curling ivy. The drapes and linens were a deep, rich purple like the night sky, shot through with gold and silver threading and embroidery to match the furniture’s imagery. 

Zevran returned to the bed, reclining with a shameless stretch. The room was still quite stuffy after their impromptu tryst, but Leliana had enough good sense to wrap the sheet around herself, at least. A strong arm came around her with the ease of a decade of friendship, and she let him pull her closer, resting her head on his warm, steady chest. He smelled of spices, citrus oil, and leather, undercut by the distinct tang of sex. It wasn’t even because they’d just had sex; he somehow always managed to smell like he’d just finished a rough tumble in the bed sheets.

There were very few vices she allowed herself, first as Left Hand of the Divine, and now as the Spymistress of the Inquisition. Her luxurious, if small bedroom; pretty shoes; her nug breeding; and him. She glanced up at him through the tangled red fringe around her face, blue eyes tracing the strong line of his jaw, watching his neck expand and contract as he breathed. He’d let his hair grow long, kept it in a loose braid that fell nearly to his waist, but she’d ripped the tie out almost before anything else. Now it fanned out behind him on the pillows, long tendrils sticking to the dried sweat on his chest and neck. 

He was a vice she made time for. They’d been meeting like this since the Archdemon had been defeated. They never discussed it, never put a name to it. She would simply send a bird out with a time and place, and he would be there. Sometimes clothed, most times not, but always ready to jump right in. He could sense what she needed each time. Rough, haphazard, perhaps dangerously so; or gentle as a flower, tortuously slow and attentive. Either way, he was always more than happy to accommodate her. 

She lifted on one elbow and stretched up to plant a sweet kiss on his jaw. His eyes fluttered open and he smiled at her, rolling into her arms and melding his mouth to hers. “Are you ready to go again, querida?” he rumbled against her lips. 

She hummed and let her head fall to his shoulder, her eyes drifting closed. “Let’s just stay like this for a moment,” she decided.

“But of course, mi amore…” His fingers wove themselves through her hair, his chin rested on top of her head. She inhaled that spiced, tangy citrus again, and let the breath out with a contented sigh.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please comment or message me with any questions, concerns, or constructive critiques. You can scream at my inbox on tumblr at allmyhusbandsarefictional.tumblr.com and if you enjoy my writing, please check out my ko-fi page and consider a donation to keep an unemployed writer with coffee in her cup! https://ko-fi.com/A405J2O


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